


ephemeral

by dvntldr



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Elijah Mikaelson is so Done, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Klaus Mikaelson Has A Heart, M/M, Protective Elijah Mikaelson, Protective Klaus Mikaelson, i genuinely have no idea why i wrote this, love klaus & elijah’s canon relationship so i wrote this for funsies, no beta we die like men, this could be interpreted as elijah/klaus or elijah & klaus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvntldr/pseuds/dvntldr
Summary: (adj.) lasting for a very long time.———Elijah looks at his brother, lips painted ruby-red in blood, captivating, coquettish blue-green eyes sinful and tempting in the worst of ways, the elegant arch of his bare throat and the halo of tousled golden curls crowning his head, and wonders how he had ever thought Niklaus was a demon, because even the Devil had once been God’s most favoured of Children, his Lightbringer, the Morning Star.
Relationships: Elijah Mikaelson & Klaus Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson/Klaus Mikaelson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 157





	ephemeral

_‘ "Goodbye," he said._

_"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."_

_"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember._

_"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."_

_"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember._

_"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."_

_"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember. ’_

“Elijah?” He looks up to see Niklaus standing in his doorway, shrouded by darkness that wraps around him like the lightest of cloaks—putting away his book, he stands, eyeing his brother with weary consternation. It’s been many a year since Niklaus has voluntarily sought him out for nothing more than the pleasure of his company—more often than not, it’s to rope him into one of his personal vendettas. 

“Niklaus,” he replies in kind, and watches as Niklaus makes his way over to him, his dark gaze sweeping over Elijah’s perfectly-pressed suit, lingering on his face for a few moments before he averts his eyes. He wonders whether Niklaus is reminiscing of the past, just as he is—bittersweet regret grips Elijah’s heart like a vice. They had always been the closest of siblings, even after Rebekah had come into the picture. Oh, Niklaus had certainly doted on his beautiful, sweet sister that looked oh so like him, with her cascading blonde curls and startling blue eyes, but Elijah had always been the one he had gone to in times of need. Once, long ago, _he_ had been Niklaus’ confidant, his pillar of support—once, Niklaus would have come to him willingly on nights such as these, trusting and secure in Elijah’s love for him. Once, he and Niklaus would never have stood at such odds as they are now, divided between beliefs and loyalties. 

“ _The Little Prince,”_ Niklaus echoes, a secretive smile lurking in his voice as his fingers brush the glossy golden cover of the book sitting on Elijah’s nightstand with care. Elijah looks upon him with something approaching fondness—he misses this Niklaus with a burning passion. The Niklaus who had held such a love of literature, who enjoyed sassing Elijah’s taste in books and had frequently stolen his novels to read whenever he felt like it. Light from the flickering streetlamps filters in through the shuttered windows and casts shifting shadows over Niklaus’ face, illuminating his high, aristocratic cheekbones and the slanted tilt to his firm jaw. “I did not know you had not yet read this book, brother. What do you think of it?”

“The prince is awfully naïve at times,” Elijah muses thoughtfully, and is rewarded with the lovely sound of Niklaus’ laughter. Not the sadistic, derisive laugh that promises pain, nor the sarcastic, mocking one made to hurt, but his true, mellifluous laughter. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed hearing his brother _happy,_ instead of merely content to wreak havoc and cause misery. “but the book itself is rather intriguing and well-written. Is it not to your tastes?”

Niklaus gives him a deadpan look, but plays along anyways, taking a casual step forwards. “ _I am who I am and I have the need to be._ ” He quotes lightly, expression unreadable, inscrutable. “I haven’t read it in a long time. I have other things to preoccupy myself with; hobbies, Elijah, something that you sorely need.”

“Such as sex and booze?” Elijah inquires dryly, raising a single eyebrow in question. “Not to mention I find that my hands are rather full with you and your exhaustive antics nowadays, Niklaus.” 

Niklaus just looks at him instead of answering immediately, chin tilted in a haughty way that could be classified as both judging and somewhat self-conscious. It’s contradictory, but then again his bastard brother has always been full of contradictions. “I never asked you to babysit me, you know. You could leave with our dear sister at any time—I know she’s asked you to join her in her travels. You could be out of the country in an hour if you so wished.”

“I _wish_ to remain with you, at least for the time being. Are you that displeased by my presence?”

The hybrid rolls his eyes dismissively at that, taking a seat in an armchair and stretching luxuriously, practically preening under Elijah’s attentions—Niklaus’ muscles roll beneath the tight black shirt that he’s wearing, said shirt intimately outlining every dip and curve of his toned torso. Elijah’s admiring eyes rake over his sibling’s body heatedly, taking in every last detail, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see that his brother is looking back at him with just as much desire in his gaze, hooded eyes lingering on Elijah’s lips for a second too long before his lips curl upwards in a teasing, fanged grin. “Elijah, brother mine, you presume far too much. I rather enjoy your company when you aren’t getting in my way. Why not allow yourself to unwind a little? After all, you are in the privacy of _our_ home.”

Ignoring the use of ‘our home’, Elijah strides forwards until he’s standing over Niklaus, hands gripping the chair’s armrests—his younger brother, despite being at a clear disadvantage, is _still_ looking at him with half-lidded, taunting eyes, clearly issuing a challenge. He’s sorely tempted to send Niklaus out a window for his impudence, but then again they’ve gotten into their fair share of scuffles over the centuries and that certainly hasn’t done anything to sway Niklaus from the treacherous path he insists upon walking. 

Instead, he cocks his head and cups Niklaus’ cheek, examining his brother’s fine features from up close—Niklaus’ long, almost feminine lashes do little to hide his vivid blue-green pupils. Unlike Rebekah, whose icy, arctic eyes could hardly be relied on to interpret her emotions and who could mask the emotions in her cold gaze as easily as breathing, Niklaus has always worn his heart in his eyes. He’s never been the diplomat in the family, nor the manipulator—he greatly preferred compulsions or torture to the boring job of manipulating others to do his bidding unless absolutely necessary. He sees the way Niklaus half-leans into his touch, a little bit of hidden bliss bleeding into his arrogant gaze before his expression closes off once more and pulls away from Elijah with an irritated sniff. Elijah smiles sadly at him, then, and something in his expression must make Klaus sit up and really look at him properly. “When did my caring about you turn into getting in your way, Niklaus?”

Niklaus doesn’t have an answer for that, despite how many creative insults lay dormant on his tongue at all times waiting to be used. They stare at each other for a moment before Niklaus scoffs and shakes his head while standing, batting Elijah’s hand away. “Coming here was a mistake,” he murmurs roughly under his breath, and Elijah doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince him or Niklaus himself. His brother moves towards the door and Elijah finds himself blurring to stand in between the exit and Niklaus. 

“Stay,” he pleads as stoically as he can, reaching out to Niklaus—their hands close, but not touching. “You have to stop running at some point, brother. You’ve been running your whole life—isn’t it time to let somebody in?”

Niklaus’ eyes darken in pure, undiluted rage and Elijah almost snorts despite himself at the irony of it all—Niklaus, though he has no true blood relation to their father, seems to have inherited the famous Mikaelson temper, defying all odds yet again as he tends to do whenever too bored. 

Of all the things Niklaus had envisioned himself becoming as a child, one thing he’d sworn to Elijah was that he would _never_ be like Mikael, that he would protect them _always and forever,_ and yet in trying to ‘protect’ his siblings he may have become just as monstrous as Mikael himself. Daggering them, killing their loved ones—isn’t it a tragedy worth Shakespeare that the abused ends up becoming the abuser? Still, somewhere within the monster his brother has become exists the faded memories of a golden-haired, blue-eyed, kind-hearted child that gathered only the sweetest and most ripe of apples to give to his siblings to share and shielded them from their father’s brutality time and time again at the expense of his own safety. “Why are you so desperate to rescue me from myself?” Niklaus demands hotly, breathing ragged as he grabs Elijah’s lapels. “I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone! I am Klaus Mikaelson! Original, hybrid—certainly more powerful than _you—“_

“To me, you will always be my Niklaus,” Elijah says softly, his thumb brushing his sibling’s cheekbone ever-so gently, and Niklaus collapses against him like a puppet with cut strings. Elijah catches him, of course, just as he always has and always will, and his brother exhales sharply against his shoulder, sounding both put-out and thankful at the same time. Elijah doesn’t comment, only gathering Niklaus up into his arms and tucking him into bed—a single look from his demanding little brother has Elijah complying and sliding under the covers as well. He’s never been very good at denying Niklaus anything, especially when he utilises the puppy-dog eyes he’d learnt from Rebekah. 

Niklaus sidles up to him almost immediately, prompting Elijah to wrap an arm around him—his touch-starved brother startles at the contact, wild-eyed and uncertain, resembling a wild animal contemplating whether it should chew off its own leg to escape the trap it’s in, but eventually settles down. One thing he knows about Niklaus that not many others know is that he absolutely adores having his hair played with—indulgently carding his fingers through the messy dirty-blond curls, he waits with an amused smile for Niklaus to relax against him, as slow as the process is.

His brother isn’t exactly the cuddling type, but he doesn’t mind it occasionally. This is apparently one of said occasions, seeing as he grumbles and glowers at him like a whiny toddler but leans into Elijah’s touch despite his grumpiness. Elijah hums a soft, lilting tune under his breath as he traces distinct, repeating patterns over Niklaus’ shoulderblades and spine, fingers ghosting over his back, light as a butterfly, as if his fingers were the brush and Niklaus his canvas. “Must you really get stuck in the past as often as you do, Elijah? There _is_ a reason why the past is called the past and not the present.”

“Do you not enjoy the lullaby?” Elijah asks innocently, softening at the conflicted look on Niklaus’ face. His brother seems to be debating with himself, deciding what exactly to say before he huffs out a breath. 

“Mother never hummed that tune to _me_ . It was only ever to Finn, her favourite, or Henrik and the rest of you if you were having difficulties sleeping. She was _ashamed_ of me, ‘Lijah, I didn’t fit in with her visualisation of her _perfect family.”_ He sneers the last two words, lip curled in disgust. “Between her lack of maternal affection and Father’s hatred, I do find myself wondering how I’d even survived as long as I did.” 

Elijah blinks at the shortening of his name—it’s been four centuries since Niklaus had last done that, and hope flutters in his chest, but he suppresses it in favor of pulling Niklaus close and stroking his hair. “She may not have sung it to you, but I did. Remember, Niklaus? You were so dreadfully afraid of storms. Even Rebekah and Kol couldn’t get you to sleep for any longer than twenty minutes.”

“I remember Father’s anger,” Niklaus says darkly. “I remember Mother’s disdain, and Finn’s annoyance, and—“ Elijah shushes him gently, smoothing back the halo of unruly curls crowning his head. 

“Do you remember _me,_ Niklaus, how I sat with you each night to chase your demons away, how you never failed to sleep fitfully under my watchful eye? How the storm never fazed you with my arms wrapped securely around you, soothing you to sleep, making sure you were safe?” When Niklaus admits that he remembered grudgingly, lifting his chin and looking him in the eye directly, Elijah nods. “I protected you then and I’ll protect you now, brother. I failed you, I know—the first time Mikael dared raise his hand to you I should have felled him where he stood. I was afraid, yes, but you deserved better than to be our scapegoat.”

“I was never your scapegoat,” Niklaus sniffs archly, turning away from him. “I didn’t do it for _you_.” Elijah’s lips quirk as he recalls Niklaus’ shielding of Kol after the latter had stolen their father’s sword to play with, how he had covered for Rebekah when she had snuck out to go to a party, how he had taken the blame for the missing extra serving of dinner though it had been Henrik that had been hungry and eaten it, and nods carelessly with a smirk in his voice.

“If you say so,” he placates gently, because he hasn’t gone so many centuries without learning how to soothe his quick-tempered brother before he goes on one of his rampages.

Niklaus looks at him warily, but seems to accept it, or at least isn’t in the mood to pitch a fit. “You may stay if you like.” He says imperiously, as if he isn’t in Elijah’s bedroom and it’s the other way around. His eyes flicker yellow in a warning. “Remain on your side of the bed or I’ll throw you off the roof.” With a tight scowl, he rolls over to leave a gap between their bodies and claims two pillows for his own—Elijah rolls his eyes again, amused by his brother’s ability to sulk like a child. 

“Goodnight, Niklaus.”

There’s silence for an hour after that, only intercepted occasionally by the rustling sounds of Niklaus’ tossing and turning in an attempt to find a comfortable position before he finally gives in and breaks his own rules, slyly reaching out to snag Elijah’s sleeve—Elijah, of course, pretends he doesn’t notice since it wouldn’t do to scare Niklaus off, and eventually his brother curls into his side, burying his face in Elijah’s chest. He drapes a careful arm over Niklaus’ waist; careful, because if Niklaus doesn’t want his touch he’ll have no qualms about ripping his arm right out of its socket, but tonight it seems as if he welcomes the contact. 

“Goodnight, ‘Lijah.” 

_’ “Of course I love you,” the flower said to him. “It is my fault that you have not known it all the while. That is of no importance. but you—you have been just as foolish as I. Try to be happy...let the glass globe be. I don’t want it anymore." ‘_

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea when this is set, so just go with your imagination??  
> I’ve been in a really weird mood lately—maybe because 2019 is ending? so I wrote this to cheer myself up :P
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
